


The Guiding Thread So Fine

by thornfield_girl



Series: Threads [5]
Category: Justified
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, Chickens, Dystopian, Kidnapping, M/M, Militias
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-23 13:26:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14333403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornfield_girl/pseuds/thornfield_girl
Summary: Harlan, for now, is an oasis in a growing sea of chaos and unrest. Though the power has been back on for nearly a year, there are many people who are less than thrilled about it. Militant "power independence" groups have been springing up all over the country, frequently embracing the idea of a return to so-called traditional values, and sometimes white supremacy. They've begun to progress from small acts of non-violent destruction to larger terrorist actions. Raylan and Boyd are determined to keep their community free from those influences, but may find themselves over-matched and pulled in too many directions.Also, chickens.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi again, after a very long interval. I've missed writing in this fandom so much, and those couple of unfinished fics have always bugged me. After consulting with a friend, who excitingly is also jumping back in for a bit, I've decided that Threads has to be my number one priority. 
> 
> Some of this was already published as an abandoned fic, so you might recognize it, but there's new stuff too and more coming very soon. :)

"Huh," Raylan says, looking up and grinning at him in a way that Boyd can't help but admit is cute. It makes him look young, like he might have looked at some age he'd been when Boyd hadn't seen him. Twenty-nine, maybe, something like that. 

Boyd looks up from the cabinet he's emptying out. “What?” 

"My exit paperwork, from the Marshal service," he said, waggling some papers in his hand. "A week from today will be the fourth anniversary of that day you came to drag my ass back here." 

They're cleaning out the spare room for the second time. The first time was to make room for Raylan that he'd ended up not having much use for. Ever since Raylan had abandoned the room in favor of Boyd's bed, they had steadily allowed it to fill up with things to trade, unfinished projects and things they didn't know what to do with but didn't feel they should throw away. 

"Anniversary? Is that the date we're using, then? Should we choose to mark the occasion." 

Raylan shrugs. "Not sure what other one we'd use. I don't really care to use the day I came down here to arrest you. Anyhow...yeah. That's the date. September 18." 

"Four years, huh? That sounds like a long time. Don't really feel like it though."   
Raylan cocks his head at him and squints in his direction. "Nope, not so much. We been busy."

Boyd glances around the cluttered room. "I really don't feel like doing this right now, Raylan."

Raylan sighs. "Me neither. But tomorrow's the meet. We been talking about clearing this shit out of here for months." He quirks an eyebrow at Boyd then, and says, "But if you had something particularly interesting in mind..."

Boyd rolls his eyes. "The news is on in a few minutes. I want to hear what's going on in Texas." Raylan very nearly pouts, and Boyd looks at him with ersatz sympathy. "We can cuddle on the sofa and watch the world fall apart, and then I'll blow you. Does that work for you?"

Raylan shrugs. "Sounds okay," he says. "But then we load up the truck with the shit we're bringing to the meet tomorrow. Before it gets dark."

"Sure, honey, whatever."

Raylan gave him the look he always did when Boyd called him that. The first time, he'd said it made him feel like a girl, but Boyd had told him he wasn't about to stop, that Raylan was dear to him and he would call him whatever he pleased. Raylan had blinked and said, "Okay, Boyd," and then jumped on top of him. 

"After the news, Raylan," Boyd reminds him, walking away from him to the living room.   
The only news that's available these days are a daily report from the new government-owned channel, and coverage from CNN that runs about six hours a day. Normally they don't bother with CNN, on account of their habit of talking nearly non-stop bullshit, but the situation in Texas is changing constantly, and could have long-ranging consequences. 

In some ways, it's like the last four years never happened for some of these assholes, like an international catastrophe was just a speed bump before they could get back to their regularly scheduled partisan bickering. But he knows they're lying; they're scared shitless, and if they’re not they certainly should be. 

As soon as the country started to get power back, about a year and a half earlier, groups had begun to spring up all over the place in support of the idea that people should stay off the grid, that they should remain self-sufficient and not place their trust in technology. Boyd himself was very sympathetic to this movement, and had changed very little in his life after the turn on. He continued to keep his still and his chickens, and Harlan as a whole continued to operate largely on the barter system, despite the fact that cash had been making a comeback. 

No one seemed particularly anxious to go back to how it had been before, though of course refrigeration and hot water heaters were welcomed back wholeheartedly by most people, including Boyd. 

One of these power-independence groups had begun to make noise in Harlan some months back. Their members seemed to come from the surrounding towns, some from neighboring counties. Boyd had gone to a few of their meetings, and at first he'd been excited about it. 

Raylan had heard a few things here and there that concerned him a bit - that a lot of them seemed to have their roots in a hard-right religious tradition, that they wanted the country to return to the old ways in more than just technology, and even that there had been serious rumblings about secession. 

Boyd had dismissed that stuff, saying that might be true of some of the groups, but that the people in Harlan weren't like that. They knew and respected him and Raylan, and their relationship, so he couldn't see them being too into the Christian Right thing. And secession, that was just ridiculous. The US military was weakened, certainly, but could still crush a bunch of redneck assholes with romantic aspirations. No one in their right mind would try. 

It was maybe their fourth or fifth meeting when everything had changed. They always met in the basement of the public library, on Wednesday nights, and there were normally between ten and twenty people in attendance. That night, the place was packed. There had to be close to forty people, and Boyd hadn't recognized any of them.   
Boyd had been running the meetings, being a talented public speaker, and a man had come up to him before it got started and introduced himself. His name was Jacob Petty, and he lived up in Manchester. He ran the branch of a group with similar aims, he said, up there in Clay County, but they were much bigger. They called themselves the Bluegrass Free Citizens and they were growing in numbers all the time. They'd been hoping that the Harlan group, which was currently independent, would become an affiliated chapter of the state-wide organization. 

Boyd had taken the literature Petty gave him and brought it home to show Raylan. They'd both found it quite disturbing, full of barely coded language about heritage and traditional values. Raylan had given Art a call the next day, and found out that they had strong ties to some militant white supremacist groups, in addition to somewhat more mainstream but still out there right wing and religious groups. 

Petty had shown up again the following week with a few of his fellow members, and Boyd had told him the Harlan group wouldn't be joining up. Petty had asked to be allowed to speak to the group, so they could be informed and make up their own minds, rather than have their decisions made unilaterally by someone with a _non-traditional mindset._

Boyd had sneered but told him, "Go right on ahead," and went upstairs to quietly call Raylan. He'd gotten a bad feeling, suddenly, and he hadn't been at all sure Petty would be satisfied with just talk. Raylan had pulled up just as Petty was finishing. Boyd had stayed in the stairwell and listened to the speech; the man was a good speaker. He was not in the same tradition as Boyd, not a preacher. He spoke to the crowd as if they already knew all the things he was telling them. 

He was saying things as if they were self-evident, and Boyd could feel how effective it was. He could feel the pull to agree, to go along, himself, even though he knew it was false logic. Nothing but preying on people's fears and tribalist urges. Most upsetting of all, though not really surprising, were the occasional murmurs of concurrence he heard in the crowd.

Raylan found him where he stood. "How bad?" he asked.

"Bad," Boyd shrugged. "I'm gonna go in there now and try to keep this from happening." He looked worried, and Raylan smiled warmly at him. 

"Boyd, you convinced me I liked sleeping with men and that it would be for the best for me to move back to a town I'd avoided for twenty years. I think you got this."

Boyd gave a short laugh and kissed his cheek before jogging down the stairs. Raylan followed him down and stood on alert at the back of the room. Boyd approached Jacob Petty and offered a hand to shake, which Petty did, though a bit warily. He sat on the edge of a table at the front of the group and said, "I listened to what Mr. Petty here had to say, and I want to tell you that I understand if you felt a certain attraction to it. Even I myself did, and I have good reason not to. You all probably know - and if you didn't, you will now - that I spent some years involved with some people who feel the white man has some sort of claim to this country, indeed to the power in any place he chooses to seize it."

Some people made noises at that. None of them sounded like this was news to them. He looked back at Raylan then and met his eyes for a second. Raylan nodded back at him, and he went on.

"We're all white people here, in this group. We're the majority here, in Harlan. There's a couple ways you can go with that situation, as I'm sure you know. You can use that power to exclude, or to make life safer and better for everyone. Now, I know all the words to use to inflame, to incite. I also know, as this man does, how to make it sound like there ain't a more sensible thing in the world. I'd almost convinced myself at one point. Problem is, it don't stand up to reflection, nor to any application of logic."

The crowd was quiet, mostly looking at their own hands, and a few at Boyd, but not around at each other. Petty stood up and said, "Now just hold on here. No one said a thing about white power, that's not what I'm talking about here."

Boyd looked at him calmly and said, "Oh? Then perhaps you can explain to us what you mean when you say ‘our nation should be once again in the hands of those with a rightful claim to it.' Or that we need no longer suffer the 'drain of inferiors on our system'? Because honestly, that language is all very familiar to me. And these people are not stupid. If you want to appeal to the racially motivated among us, I would suggest a more direct approach."

"You assume that refers only to race," Petty said.

Boyd smiled his sharpest, most brilliant smile, and without thinking too much about it, Raylan moved his hand closer to the firearm on his hip.

"Well then," Boyd said, "why don't you speak openly? This is America, we got freedom of speech here."

Petty looked around at the group, which was a fairly typical selection of Harlan residents. There weren't too many college graduates here, but a lot of churchgoers. Boyd knew what the man thought he was looking at, what he probably figured was his best shot. He was banking on ignorance, and Boyd hoped that was a miscalculation. In truth, however, he wasn't entirely certain.

"Before the lights went out," Petty began, "our country was already heading down a dark path. Decent, normal, hard-working people suffered indignity after indignity, were forced to accept - with good cheer - the so-called 'rights' of the perverted and base elements of society. Now, I know that for the past several years we've all been focused on survival, and there hasn't been much time to think about dangerous nonsense such as that, but we ought to be damn certain we're working to bring this country back into the light. We have an opportunity here to set things right."

Petty sat back, and the crowd muttered, quietly at first, and then a woman sitting off to the side, who hadn't spoken all night, stood up and said, "We don't want you here. You can go now."

Boyd smiled, more softly now, and said, "Well, even Darlene has been moved to speak. Thank you, darlin'. Anyone else care to chime in?"

A young man named Kurt- barely more than a boy really, he'd been a high school senior the year of the Event - was sitting in the front row. He'd been heavily involved in the group, would come early to help set up, and would talk about it to anyone who'd listen. He stood and said, "It seems like you're talking about the gays and all that? Is that right?"

"That's right, son," Petty said. "The so-called gays, the feminists, all the destroyers of our proud culture. We need strong men in days such as these, not the emasculated weaklings our society has been forced to embrace."

"Well, that's just stupid," Kurt said. "Boyd here has a boyfriend, who's the Sheriff of this county, and I can't think of anyone who'd call either one of them weak. Plus there's Matthew, who's on my hunting crew, and he's the best shot besides me. You can't fool people with that bullshit no more. Most people know at least one gay by now, so they can see with their own eyes you're just making shit up."

Petty nodded almost sympathetically. "I understand, son, you're young and you've been taught all that stuff is normal, but I bet your daddy would feel differently about it. Folks, this is exactly what I'm talking about, it's the vulnerable younger generation, they are at a crossroads-”

"I think that's enough," Raylan put in laconically from the back of the room. He pushed casually off the wall and walked forward. "Like Boyd said, this is America and these people can do what they like, but they've heard you out and now it's time for this meeting to wrap up. You're welcome to leave your pamphlets and whatnot."  
There had been a little back and forth after that, but Petty had gone peaceably, leaving behind a stack of flyers for the next BFC meeting. Boyd didn't see anyone take one, though he knew that statistically there must have been at least a couple people interested. If they were refraining only out of respect for him, he thought that was a victory in itself, so he didn't mind.

That was more than a month ago, and since then a lot had happened. Similar, loosely affiliated groups in Kentucky and elsewhere had begun to make a lot of noise. There had been large-scale rallies in several cities, mostly in the south but also one in California and one in western Pennsylvania. 

The northern states mostly seemed to want a return to the previous ways, which made a lot of sense considering the weather. Kentucky got cold enough, and it was easy to imagine how miserable someplace like Chicago would be in the winter with no electricity and scarce oil and gas. There had been huge riots there in the first two years after the Event, and large sections of that city had been burned to the ground. Detroit basically no longer existed, or so Boyd had heard. Aside from the public demonstrations, there had been small but problematic displays of destructive protest. 

One common method these groups employ is to sabotage power lines. They have people stationed at points all across a service area, and at a set time, they take a chainsaw to the poles so they fall over. The power company then has to run around like crazy for weeks, trying to attend to all the downed lines. It's incredibly easy to do, difficult to catch anyone doing it, and extremely disruptive to an already overworked system. 

They also stage illegal pickets in front of power companies and block the exits, they set off smoke bombs in the lobbies of these companies, they slash the tires of power company trucks. They've been doing all these things and other ones on a similar scale for months, and everyone had been waiting for it to escalate, for something _big_ to happen. 

And then it had. In Texas, the energy independence movement had been huge since almost the beginning, but had been mostly peaceful. Then, a day earlier, a large explosion was reported at a power station outside of Lubbock, darkening a good-sized area. 

Boyd sprawls on one end of the couch, and Raylan leans against the other arm, resting his socked feet in Boyd's lap. 

"I ain't giving you a foot rub," Boyd says.

"Ain't asking for one," Raylan replies, rubbing his foot in Boyd's crotch. 

Boyd huffs and shoves it away. “Quit it, asshole. Come on, Raylan, don’t you want to see what those crazy motherfuckers in Texas are doing now? This could be important.”  
“I kinda don’t want to know,” he admits, but before Boyd could yell at him he added, “I know we need to pay attention. I just…” He looks away. “I know how fast shit can get out of hand. I know how bad it can be. I don’t like watching it happen.”

“Oh.” He nods and pulls Raylan’s foot back onto his thigh. “Yeah.” Raylan’s never gone into detail about what happened during the time he spent in Lexington after everything changed between them. Boyd knows about the prison break, and he knows Raylan did things that disturbed him. Raylan has always had a code, and whatever he experienced there put him at odds with it. 

“I’m fine, Boyd.” Raylan smiles at him mildly. “I don’t like it, but I ain’t gonna have flashbacks or nothing.”

Since he knows Raylan would hate to be fussed over as much as he himself would, he just turns the television on. It’s still feels strange, almost surprising, that it works. The screen is showing a series of images of several men and women, interspersed with a shot of a large, yellowish building that the voiceover explains is the Jones Generating Station, located southeast of Lubbock Texas. The people on screen are hostages, employees being held inside by the Texas chapter of an organization called the True Patriots. 

Raylan is staring at the screen, a hard line between his eyes and his mouth in a grim line. "Jesus Christ," he mutters. "What the hell do they think they're doing?"

"They're fools," Boyd replies. "They think most people would really think the way they do, if only they had the courage to say so. They think they're gonna liberate people."

Raylan shakes his head slowly. "They're gonna get us attacked from the outside while we're distracted, that's what they're gonna do. All because some bunch of entitled shitstains are throwing a tantrum about not being in charge of the world anymore."

"They're us, Raylan," Boyd says grimly. "Middle-aged southern white men. Although, I suppose we get to claim minority status now."

"I'll take it," Raylan snorts. "Anything to distance myself from these idiots." 

They watch the same pictures scrolling over the screen while the CNN anchors repeat the same shit over and over until it's clear there's nothing new to be gleaned. Raylan shuts off the set, and they look at each other. 

"I ain't really in the mood no more," Raylan sighs. 

"No. Let's just finish clearing the spare room."

They work in there until the truck is full, they're exhausted, and the sun is going down. Their plan is to sit out back, build a fire and drink beer all evening. They have some fried chicken in the fridge, courtesy of a woman Raylan had helped out when some neighborhood boys were breaking into the fenced-in garden where she grew weed.   
Neither of them talk much at all while they work, and when they're finished, they talk about anything but the news. They swap gossip, and when that runs out, they talk about old times a little. Boyd plays the guitar and Raylan sings, and then they pull each other into bed. They’re both still in a bit of a mood, but it’s different now. Whatever pain and loss they’re each remembering doesn’t come between them, but only reminds them that it’s also what brought them together. Boyd would never say - never even think - that it was worth it, but he’s glad for it all the same. When Raylan comes, shuddering, groaning love words into Boyd’s ear, he can’t think anything else.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan and Boyd hear rumblings about some militia action in Harlan. Cary and Matthew head out of town to help a smaller community with a health crisis.

The next morning, they both head over to the meet and stake out a large area on which to set up all their shit. They have Boyd's shine and some chicks to sell, in addition to all the accumulated junk from the spare room. Raylan is haggling with a guy over some old tools that he'd scavenged, then cleaned and oiled until they shone. Nancy wanders over after the first wave of buyers and traders dies down, looks critically at the chicks, then leans against the side of the truck. She's scowling, and gazing at someone on the other side of the field. 

"Remember them Bluegrass Free Assholes came around here a while back?" she asks. 

"I would be hard-pressed to forget," Boyd says, his mouth pressing into a thin line. "Why?"

"They're holding a sort of revival out at the old Trimble place. Got a tent and all, a preacher, fucking burgers and beer, ice cream for the kiddies. And that fucker Petty's gonna be there, speakin' on how to take our country back from...well, you know. Dykes, fags, niggers, uppity women, atheists. The usual suspects.” 

Boyd's whole face is a frown. "You know," he says softly, "it's a free country. The man has a right to his ignorance, and other people got a right to listen to it for whatever their personal reasons are. I ain't gonna fucking cry 'cause he don't like me. But what those people are advocating is reckless, at best. Sabotaging power lines and illegal pickets are one thing; I don't like it much, but it ain't killing anyone. But that shit in Texas..." He shakes his head.

"What about Texas?" Raylan asks, walking up. 

"You sell them tools?" Boyd asks, choosing to ignore him for the moment.

"Nah. Cheap bastard wouldn't come close to what they're worth." Raylan shrugs. "Anyway, what's going on?"

Boyd sighs, knowing full well Raylan’s going to be pissed off and wanting to go over there with a full head of steam once he hears. He can’t say he doesn’t sympathize, but he’s pretty sure this isn’t a situation where Raylan’s temper will be helpful.  
“We may have a problem. That fucker Petty’s back at it, and he’s brought reinforcements. They’re out at Trimble’s, got a whole big fuckin’ show going on over there. I don’t know how we didn’t hear nothing, they must’ve made a deal in secret and set all that shit up overnight.”

Raylan’s face darkens immediately, and he gets that bug-eyed expression that always makes him look a little bit like a cartoon character with smoke coming out of his ears. Boyd very nearly smiles at him, but catches himself at the last minute. 

“Shit,” Raylan spits. “I’m heading over there right now. Those motherfuckers didn’t apply for no goddamn permit. They’re gonna have to go.”

Boyd laughed at the idea of anyone getting permits to gather, these days. He shook his head and said, “You know I’m every bit as distressed by this development as you are. However, I believe this problem may call for a bit more finesse than you are historically known for.” 

Raylan’s hands come to rest on his hips, and the look he gives Boyd is extremely familiar, though he hasn’t seen much of it in recent history. It reminds him of nothing so much as that first year Raylan was back in Kentucky. “Are you really trying, at this late date, to snow me with your bullshit smooth talk?”

“Well,” Boyd says, staring him down, “that depends. Are you really going to disregard my sage advice and instead let your not-inconsiderable temper guide your actions?”

“Fuck you.” Raylan folds his arms and looks away in irritation. 

Boyd hears Nancy snicker, but he ignores her and wraps his fingers around Raylan’s forearm. “Raylan, you’re the Sheriff in this county, and if you want to go over there with a head full of steam and make things a lot worse than they need to be, that’s your prerogative. But you know goddamn well I’m right.”

Raylan aims that Yosemite Sam glare at him for a few more seconds, then huffs. “Fine. What do you suggest, genius?”

“I think we should leave them be,” Boyd says, “but we need to find out what they’re talking about. You need a mole in there, someone harmless they won’t notice. Someone who looks stupid but can pay attention and remember shit.”

“Why do I feel like you already have a candidate in mind?” Raylan says, his mouth quirking up at the corners.

“Raylan, who do you know that thinks the damn sun shines out your ass and would blindly do anything you tell him to do?”

“Yeah, Boyd, but Petty already knows who you are,” Raylan says, smirking. Nancy busts out laughing. “Anyways, I guess you’re talking about Bob Sweeney, right? That’s an idea, I guess.” He turns to Nancy and asks, “You seen him around today?”

“Nope, not this morning.”

Raylan nods. “Alright. Boyd, you’ll have to deal with this shit here while I go talk to him. I don’t want to wait.” 

“Yeah, go on,” Boyd says. As Raylan starts to walk away, he shouts, “You’re welcome!” 

Raylan gives him the finger without turning around. 

Nancy’s rolling her eyes at Boyd, and she says, “I don’t know how that boy survived at all before you took him in hand.”

“Well, he had bosses, before. And a wife, of course, for a while.” Boyd winks at her and says, “Though he only listened to any of them when it suited him, far as I can tell. None of them could read his bullshit like I can, or at least, they couldn’t until it was way too late.”

“You talk a good game,” Nancy laughs, “but you ain’t fooling anybody, Boyd Crowder. I never did see anyone as gone as you are for that boy. 

“I know it,” Boyd says. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not a pain in my ass sometimes.”  
Nancy nods. “Don’t I know it,” she says. She glances in the direction Raylan went.  
***

“Are you almost ready to go?” It’s Monday morning, and Matthew has his bag packed and is waiting by the door. It’s a week early for his and Cary’s monthly weekend trip to Louisville, but they have to make a side trip this time. 

“I can’t find my travel toothbrush,” Cary calls down. “It’s not in my toiletries case.” 

Matthew’s eyes roll back in his head and he takes a deep breath in an attempt to keep his voice free of the impatience he’s feeling. “Maybe you left it at Nick’s house last time we were there. Just bring your regular toothbrush.”

Matthew hears him muttering something to himself, so perhaps he didn’t quite manage the tone he’d been going for, but Cary comes down the stairs a minute later with a travel bag slung over his shoulder. “You have the address of the place?” 

Matthew pulls a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. “Not exactly an address, just says Topmost, and there’s directions. We go out 119 and north on 7. We’re supposed to go to the Baptist church there, right off the highway. I don’t think it’s much of a town, so we should be able to find it pretty easily.” 

“Okay.” Cary sighs. “I want to stop by the Sheriff’s office before we head out of town, just to let Raylan know I’ll be away in case there’s a death.” 

They pull into the Sheriff’s office and park between Boyd Crowder’s truck and an ancient yellow AMC Gremlin that looks held together by duct tape. “Hard to believe that’s still running,” Matthew said. He got out of the car and peered in the windows. “It’s not like it’s been restored.” 

Cary opens his door and walks around to look at it. “A kid who was at Evarts the same time as me had a car just like that. Can’t recall his name, though. Huge nerd.” 

“I’m guessing it’s not the same guy. Although, the longer I’m in Harlan, the longer I realize the more things change, the more they stay the same.” 

“Speaking of which, let’s go see Raylan and Boyd.” 

Matthew snorts and follows Cary into the station. As they come through the door, a squat man in a dark uniform shirt, badge and gun belt is saying, “...an army. I swear to God, that’s what he was--” He breaks off when he realizes they’ve entered the room.  
Raylan leans back in a chair behind his desk, and Boyd sits on the corner of it, both looking at the...officer, or whatever his job is, with some skepticism. “Well, hey, Doc!” The easy smile goes a little ways towards lightening the atmosphere in the room, but Boyd and the other man still look troubled. Still, Boyd slides off the edge of the desk and manages a smile of his own. 

“How’s it going, fellas?” Boyd asks. 

“Just fine,” Cary says. “I’m sorry for interrupting your meeting.” 

Raylan waves him off. “No big deal. Do you know Bob Sweeney?” 

Cary almost says no, but then he realizes. “I’m not sure we’ve met, but I do remember Bob from high school.” He extends a hand to Bob. “I’m Cary Emerson. I’m the town doctor and the Coroner in Harlan now. This is Matthew.” 

“Nice to meet you guys. He shakes Matthew’s hand before turning back to Cary. “Emerson...Is Alison your sister? She was always real nice.” 

“That’s right. She’s out in California now. And you’re a--uh--” 

“Constable, for Harlan County. I’ve been helping Raylan with a situation.” 

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it,” Cary said. “I just wanted to let Raylan know I’m going to be out of town from today through next weekend. I’ve agreed to help out the local doctor up in Topmost. Got a real sick teenage girl he can’t diagnose, and he asked if I’d help him with a differential.” 

“That really gonna take a week?”

“And then Matthew and I are taking our monthly trip up to Louisville to see friends, as per my ironclad promise.” 

Raylan grins. “I was about to start complaining, but I ain’t gonna get you in hot water at home. Is there a number you can leave, like someone’s landline, in case the cell reception goes down? Just in case we have an emergency or something. I’m sure I won’t need to use it, but you never know.” 

“Yeah, of course. Um…” He looks hopefully at Matthew, who rolls his eyes and takes the small notebook Raylan is holding out. “Thanks, babe.” 

Matthew lets out a resigned sigh and scribbles a number down. “Here,” he says, handing it to Raylan. “I’m hoping we’ll be in Louisville before the end of the week.” He cuts his eyes over to Cary and then looks back. “But I guess we’ll see.” 

“If it seems like it’s going to take longer than that, you can always head up there on your own, and just come back for me on Sunday.”

“So you said. As if I’d leave you stranded in some holler with a bunch of off grid, white supremacist--” 

“You’re making assumptions.”

“You’re goddamn right, I am.” 

“What’s this, now?” Raylan said. “You know something, Matthew?” 

“They call themselves a ‘self-sufficient community.’ You know what that’s code for.”

“Well, hang on,” Boyd says. “Not necessarily. Truth be told, if I were on my own, I might be thinking about doing the same thing. There’s a personal satisfaction to being free from dependence on the government.” 

Raylan gives him an incredulous look. “You really want to call to mind the various things you’ve gotten up to at the times you’ve been on your own? It’s not all that goddamn reassuring, truth be told.”

After a derisive snort from Bob Sweeney, Boyd shoots Raylan a dirty look. “Seriously, Raylan?”

“Alls I’m saying is it don’t hurt to be a little cautious. You know as well as I do, self-sufficient could mean just that, but it could also mean...unwelcoming. It could mean militia.” He frowns at Cary. “How’d you say you heard about this situation?” 

“A med school acquaintance of mine called me. A mutual friend had mentioned I was back in Harlan, so he reached out.”

“He knows you’re gay, right? That you and Matthew are a couple? I mean, I hate to be blunt, but if they’re anything like that shit head Petty and his crowd, that’s not the kind of thing you want to spring on them in the moment.” 

“He’s well aware,” Cary says. “They need a doctor. I’m not about to refuse to help just because their politics might disgust me--which we don’t even know for sure. And they can’t afford to be too picky about who they get, at the moment.” 

“Can you leave his number too?” 

Cary wrote it down for him, along with his name, Dr. Michael Decker. “That’s a cell number, though. I can’t imagine reception is going to be completely reliable up there. No one has landlines in the town.”

Raylan’s mouth tightens, and it looks like he might be grinding his teeth. He looks worried, and Matthew can’t help but think about how sexy he looks when he’s being protective. When they get back from their trip, he’s definitely going to talk to Cary about inviting them over. 

“If you get any weird vibes at all, you get the hell out of there,” Raylan says. “Promise me.” 

“I promise,” he says. “I’m not about to leave Harlan without a doctor.” 

They make their goodbyes and head out to the parking lot, and they’re about to get into the car when Boyd comes through the station door. “Hey, guys.”

“What’s up, Boyd?” Matthew asks. 

“It occurred to me I shouldn’t have been so dismissive of Matthew’s concerns. He’s right to be worried. You got protection with you?” Matthew starts to laugh, and Boyd rolls his eyes. “You know goddamn well what I meant. You at least bring your shotgun?”

“No,” Cary says. “I’m going there to help out. I think you’re all being paranoid.” 

Boyd hesitates for a second, and then says, “You know it ain’t just Harlan Raylan’s worried about, right? He don’t make friends at the drop of a hat. Anything were to happen, he’d--we both would--be fucked up about it. If you want to stop by my house, you can take the 9mm I got in my bedside table. I’ll give you my key.” 

“That’s a generous offer, Boyd. And thanks. You and Raylan mean a lot to us too, but we’ll be fine. We really have to get on the road.” 

Boyd shakes his head. “Be careful, then. Keep your head on a swivel.” 

Matthew grins at him. “We’ll see you next week. We’ll have you over for dinner.” 

Boyd waves and heads back inside. Cary smirks at Matthew and says, “They do like our cooking.” 

“Don’t act like you weren’t thinking the same thing.” 

“I started thinking it the second Raylan insulted Boyd about his checkered past. It’s my favorite.” 

They climb into the car and started heading out of town. After a few minutes of silent driving, Cary says, “You’re not really worried, are you?”

“I don’t know. It does make me nervous, but I guess, what’s the worst that could happen? They tell us to leave because they don’t like our kind or whatever, right? They wouldn’t…” He trails off and shakes his head, because although the more violent possibilities sound ridiculous, the world is completely fucked up at the moment, and he can’t rule anything out. He doesn’t want to name his fears. 

“Look, I know Becker. He’s not a bad guy. And I don’t know what the alternative is, anyway. This is what I swore an oath to do. You didn’t, though. You don’t have to be there.” 

Matthew scoffs in irritation. “Could you stop saying that, please? It’s bullshit. I know you don’t think I’d let you go to some creepy compound without any backup whatsoever. Seriously, Car, would you?” 

“No.” 

“Then quit it. We made a decision, so there’s no point beating it to death at this point.” Matthew looks out the window and sulks for a minute or so before deciding to let it go and try to make the best of things. When he looks over, Cary has a small but unexpected smile on his face as he’s driving. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Cary says, the smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. 

_”What?_

“You calling yourself my backup. It’s hot, that’s all.”

Matthew gives him a wry smile. “You’re so predictable.” 

Cary reaches over and takes his hand. “And you’re so sexy, I can hardly stand it.”

Matthew sighs. “Yeah, yeah. I love you too.” He picks up an ancient iPod from the well between the front seats and plugs it into the USB. He’d found the thing in the back of a drawer when they were spring cleaning the year before, and it was like coming across buried treasure. Their Spotify subscription had long since been rendered useless, but this was an 120 GB version and loaded to the hilt with most of the CD collection they’d so unwisely dumped in a fit of minimalism before they moved to Harlan. “You want it on shuffle, or something in particular?”

“You pick.” 

“Fine. No complaining, then.” Matthew puts on The Decembrists’ _The Crane Wife_ , reclines his seat and closes his eyes.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob Sweeney gives Raylan and Boyd some disturbing information about the Bluegrass Free Citizens and their play for Harlan. After he leaves, Raylan and Boyd have some private time before Bob returns with even worse news.

“You were saying something about an army, Bob, if I recall correctly.” Raylan’s not sure whether he should be more worried about the Bluegrass Free Citizens recruiting in Harlan, or the fact that Cary and Matthew aren’t taking their safety nearly seriously enough. “Please tell me you’re exaggerating for effect.” 

“No! I swear to God. At least, that’s the way they were talking about it. Saying stuff like how inspired we should be by our brothers and sisters in Lubbock, and they’re looking for people who truly believe in bringing America back to its former glory.” 

“Well, don’t that sound fucking familiar,” Boyd mutters. “Every time I see that stupid fuck’s fat orange face on the TV he’s saying the same shit. Telling them he’ll fix everything, except he can’t do shit about the real dangers so he makes up fake ones. Same dumb rednecks voted for him are going to have no trouble following Petty and his Christian heritage nonsense.”

“Like you wouldn’t have voted for him if all this shit hadn’t happened. If you were allowed to vote, that is.”

“You pissed at me or something, Raylan? Because I fail to understand why else you’d be acting like the last four years never happened, all of a sudden. You got something to say, just fucking say it. Unless you’re trying to rile me up for some other purpose.” 

Bob clears his throat. “I’m still here, guys.” 

Boyd ignores him and keeps his challenging glare fixed on Raylan, who holds it for a good twenty seconds before relenting and shifting his eyes away. “I’m worried. Sometimes being an asshole is the only thing gets me through. You of all people should understand.”

“I do,” Boyd says, “But quit it. I’m on your side now, remember?” 

Raylan gives him a quick double take. Despite Boyd’s generally lawful behavior since his arrival in Harlan, he’d never heard him articulate it in quite that way. He doesn’t quite smile, but he gives Boyd a slow nod to let him know he’d heard him. “So...This might not be what anyone wants to hear--myself included--but I’m thinking it might be time to call in some outside help with this situation. If they’re talking about this in terms of armed action, I see this getting out of our control sooner rather than later. We’re not in any way equipped for it.” 

“ATF, you think?” Bob asks, nodding. 

“If they’re stockpiling weapons, yeah.” 

“I ain’t trying to go all native son on you, Raylan, but are you out of your fucking mind? You know what’s going to happen if you bring those dickheads in. I sure as shit know you’re old enough to remember Ruby Ridge. And besides, nothing’s actually happened yet. What do you think they’ll say? You think they don’t have eyes on the BFC already?” 

“I hear you. But I also don’t want to leave it until it’s way too late.” 

“I’m thinking they’ll leave when they don’t get enough traction in Harlan. They don’t have limited resources, so why would they put so many into trying to bring around a bunch of people who are resisting them?”

“That’s another thing I was going to tell you,” Bob says. They both look at him as if they’d forgotten he was there, in spite of his reminder only moments before. “I know you have a lot of supporters around here. I heard what happened at that meeting, and that’s awesome. But that wasn’t everyone in town, or in the county. Some of them...well, I saw some familiar faces out at that farm, is all I’m saying. And no one was pushing back, or looking nearly as uncomfortable as I would have liked. He was making it all about identity, but trying to act like that’s what everyone else is doing. As if people are asking for special rights or something. You know how it works.”

“People love to look to their right and their left and see themselves looking back,” Boyd murmurs. “And I guess, even though looking at us should be like looking in the fucking mirror, now they see something else altogether.” 

“Praise Jesus,” Raylan says softly. He holds Boyd’s gaze for as long as it takes him to crack a smile, and then begin to laugh. Bob catches it and joins in, and then Raylan too, even though it feels more hysterical than funny.

When it dies down, Bob Sweeney says, “I still can’t hardly believe you two are a couple, sometimes. I know you were friends and all back in school, but when Raylan was here on Marshal business, you always looked like you wanted to tear each other apart.” Taking in Raylan and Boyd’s blank stares, he says, “Oh, okay. I get it.” This sets off another bout of laughter, with Bob’s face going bright pink. 

“All right,” Raylan says, “Is there anything else, Bob?”

“No, that was the gist of it. You want me to start going to their meetings?” When Raylan hesitates, he goes on to say, “As Constable, it’s my job to assist the local law enforcement in any way I can. Don’t leave me out of this, Raylan. I’m just as concerned about it as you are.” 

Raylan nods. “Okay, then. Anything in Harlan. But don’t stick your neck out. Don’t get noticed. I only want you to observe. You ain’t Donnie Brasco, got it?”

When Sweeney’s gone, Raylan wipes his hands over his face and tries to stretch the kinks out of his neck. “I need to hire some deputies. It’s not the same as when I first came back here. People are getting back to old ways.” 

“Why not hire Bobby Sweeney?”

“He’s not cut out for that kind of work. That ain’t to say he can’t be useful, but...no. I like him where he is.” Raylan tilts his head to regard Boyd for a moment. “I’d ask you, if I could.” 

“But you can’t. Same reason I couldn’t do my civic duty, swallow my bile and vote for the neo-liberal, interventionist war hawk when the time came. And by the way, you shouldn’t assume you know what I would have done before, but either way, I don’t think there’s any chance he would have gotten elected before the power went out. People in crisis love a charismatic bullshitter, wannabe dictator. Plus a lot of them hate women, obviously.”

“I tend to agree. Folks weren’t that crazy, before. Plus, no one in the cities voted this time because things were such a mess.” Raylan sighs and shakes his head. “You were right about calling the Feds. They come in it’s going to be a clusterfuck. Same time, I don’t know what my other options are. I’ll give it a week, see what Bob comes up with. And talk to Johnny, would you? He always hears shit. Tell him to keep you in the loop.” 

Boyd nods and walks around to Raylan’s side of the desk. Raylan swivels in his chair so he’s facing Boyd, and looks up at him. 

“I really am sorry for calling you out in front of people.” 

“Yeah,” Boyd says, grinning. “Usually you only do that in private.”

Raylan reaches up to take his hands and pull him forward. Boyd responds by leaning down and pressing a serious kiss to his mouth. “By the way,” Boyd says, “I think Matthew and the Doc are looking to play again.” 

“My fault. They like it when we fight.” He strained upward for another kiss. “Hey, Boyd?

“Yeah?” 

“You feel like maybe making some use of the actual private Sheriff’s office? I feel like I could use an early lunch break.” 

A grin spreads slowly across Boyd’s face. “But Raylan, I didn’t bring no food.”

“Guess I’ll have to make do with you, then.” 

Raylan fishes a key out of the desk and they head back to the inner office, which—if he had a staff and deputies—would be his office. As it stands, there’s not much point in using it, except when privacy is called for. Boyd comes up behind him and reaches around to fiddle with his belt while he’s unlocking the door. 

“You got a time constraint or something, boy?”

“Only insofar as I’m always in a hurry to get you naked.”

Raylan manages to turn the lock, and looks back at him. “We ain’t getting all the way naked at my place of employment, just so’s you know.”

Boyd pays him no mind and nuzzles the back of his neck while he opens the door. The room smells musty after being shut for months, and Raylan sneezes. 

“We ought to make sure this place gets more use,” Raylan says, finishing the job Boyd had started with his pants. 

“Sounds better than dusting,” Boyd replies, reaching up to loosen his tie.

“Stop.” Raylan puts his hand up to stop him. “I told you. We can’t undress. What if someone comes in and I have to get out there fast?”

“Just a little.” Boyd gets the top few buttons undone and runs his tongue along Raylan’s collarbone. “Be easier if you didn’t bother wearing this stupid uniform. What’s the point?”

Raylan sighs. “You want to rehash this dumb conversation again, or do you want your dick sucked?”

“The second thing.” Boyd unzips himself and kisses Raylan again. “Where you want me?” 

Raylan backs him up until Boyd’s ass hits the big metal desk. “Come on. Upsy daisy.” 

Boyd gives him a highly satisfying look of incredulity, and then hops up on the edge. Raylan pulls the desk chair around and sits down in it, between Boyd’s legs. He rolls in as close as possible, face to face with Boyd’s erect penis. Looking up at him, he licks his balls and moves up the shaft, tongueing him all over, making it glisten with his saliva. He takes Boyd’s cock in hand and rubs it against his face, making Boyd hiss when it comes in contact with his stubble. 

Boyd is rubbing his fingers in Raylan’s hair, and Raylan has to wonder why the scalp isn’t considered an erogenous zone, because the sensation is going straight from there to his dick. He takes hold of himself as he finally swallows Boyd down, squeezing lightly and rubbing it very slowly up and down as Boyd presses against the back of his throat. 

“Don’t get too carried away, Raylan. Don’t you rob me of the pleasure of getting you off.” 

Raylan responds by taking his hand from his own cock and cupping Boyd’s balls instead. Boyd lets out an unintelligible grunt and wraps his legs around Raylan’s torso, pulling him in even closer. Raylan, still, occasionally gets surprised by the fact that not only did he learn an entirely new sexual skill at the age of nearly forty, but it’s now basically his favorite thing to do. He’s not entirely unsure he couldn’t come just from a combination of how much sucking cock turns him on, and Boyd with those goddamn fingers in his hair. 

“You better hope no one comes in looking for a cop. Naked or not.” Boyd pauses long enough to groan and squeeze Raylan with his legs. “Just look at you,” he says, his voice breathy now. “You are a beautiful mess, Raylan.” Raylan makes an impatient whining sound in his throat and starts touching himself again, and Boyd utters a laugh that ends in a gasp. “Soon, baby. Soon, I--oh Raylan, that’s--” Boyd’s fingers curl in Raylan’s hair, which had been badly in need of a cut for some time. His head drops back, Raylan stretches his hand up to stroke the side of his long neck. Quiet, rapid escalations escape his wide open mouth, and Raylan feels him begin to go over the edge. Despite Boyd’s ability to talk through sex, to appear completely in control of himself, he’s still just a man. At the moment of orgasm, he loses control, abandons dignity, just like any other man. The muscles of his hard, lean stomach contract, his heels dig into Raylan’s shoulder blades, and he gives a shout as hot come shoots down Raylan’s throat. 

Raylan sits back, wiping the side of his mouth. He stares up at Boyd, who looks a bit dazed, and his hair is sticking up in every direction. He looks a wreck, which is as it should be. Raylan loves him like this. He begins to stroke himself again as they make eye contact. 

“What would you want me to do for you, baby?” Boyd asks, after a few moments. 

Raylan shakes his head slowly. “I just want to look at you. Come down off that desk, ‘kay?”

Boyd smiles and slides off, coming to kneel in front of Raylan’s chair. He places a hand on Raylan’s thigh and rubs slowly back and forth. Raylan cups the side of his jaw and holds eye contact as he continues to masturbate. 

“Wouldn’t mind, you wanted to talk a bit.” 

Boyd nods. “What kind of talk?” 

“Tell me a story.”

“Want to know about the first time I knew I wanted to kiss you?” 

“Not if it’s sad,” Raylan says, frowning slightly.

“I wasn’t sad about it then. Scared, yes. Later, maybe, it made me sad, but Raylan, I get to kiss you anytime I want. Ain’t sad now. ‘Cause you love me.”

Raylan leans forward to kiss him. “I love you.” 

Boyd smiles. “Anyway, it ain’t much of a story. Senior year, and my truck threw a belt on my way home from school. I was stopped on the side of the road, and you pulled off to offer me a ride. You said you weren’t heading home right away, anyhow, because your mama was with Limehouse and you were avoiding the house. So we went to the Dairy Queen, sat outside at a picnic table. I watched you licking on that cone, and I--well, I don’t know how I never noticed before, or maybe I just never saw you eat ice cream before, but I suddenly thought I had never seen a mouth so pretty as yours. I thought how it would probably taste so good, and how your tongue would be cold from it, and how it would warm up inside my mouth. I was almost in some kind of trance, and I was getting hard. If we’d been alone...I don’t know. Probably nothing, but Christ almighty, that mouth featured in my solitary fantasies for quite some time. Never thought it could be real, like what you just did for me a minute ago, up on that desk. Never imagined it could be so goddamn beautiful for you and me.” 

Raylan reaches for Boyd with both hands, pulling him up. Boyd kneels on the chair, straddling Raylan’s legs, and kisses him as he takes hold of his cock. His climax rushes up on him, with Boyd’s story come to life in his imagination, thinking about warm days and cold lips and sunshine and Boyd’s hard cock in the ratty old jeans he used to wear back in the day. He holds the back of Boyd’s head in his hand, keeping him close as he lets out a cry against his cheek. Boyd’s hand keeps moving until Raylan is all done, and then stills. 

“You got a way with words, son,” Raylan says, huffing a laugh into Boyd’s hair. “Too bad that DQ is closed. I’d give you a do over.” 

Boyd kisses him and then climbs down from the chair, holding his come covered hand out of front of him as he searches around for something to wipe it on. He finally finds a stack of those paper towels that are supposed to go in a dispenser, in the bottom drawer of the desk. “Wouldn’t mind some ice cream, anyway. Want to go into town tonight?” 

“It’s like you can read my mind, Boyd.” They’re both startled by a pounding on the door of the inner office,and after a quick glance to make sure Boyd is tucked away, he fastens a couple of the top buttons on his shirt and goes to the door. 

Bob Sweeney stands on the other side, panting like he’d run three miles. Or however long of a run it would take for him to be completely winded. “Raylan, something’s--” He pauses for a second as he presumably takes in his level of dishevelment, and the fact that Boyd’s hair looks like he’s been driving with the windows down, but manages to recover before long. “Something happened. An explosion, at the power station right outside of town.” 

Raylan’s stomach plummets. The power station is where Loretta and Chris work. He can’t say it out loud, and he doesn’t know how to ask without articulating that fear. He looks at Boyd and hopes he understands what Raylan needs from him. 

“Is anyone hurt?” Boyd asks, standing stock still and gripping the edge of the desk. 

Bob shakes his head, but he’s not saying no. “I don’t know anything. I was on the road and I heard it, pretty faint, but I saw smoke, and when I got closer I could see where it was coming from. I thought I should tell you before I went out there.” 

Raylan nods once, tersely, and says, “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to have to take a break of about a week before I can work on the next chapter, but I promise I'll be back.


End file.
